A Tale of Two Cities
by unoriginal-elizabeth
Summary: Spike/Lynda, Derek/Casey. “So, just to make sure I’ve got this straight...you’re an undercover journalist with absolutely no romantic interest in Casey McDonald?”
1. Chapter 1

NOTES: Um. Crossover between _Press Gang _and _Life with Derek. _I don't think you need to know either show all that well to get the gist, though (but that might just be because I DO know both shows!). Written for the tweensanta challenge for amoenavi. Posted here for reasons of vanity and convenience :) If anyone actually reads it, comments and criticism are most welcome!

PROMPT: The duelling duos double date. Disaster much?

DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Press Gang _or _Life with Derek. _This was done for fun, not profit.

_

* * *

_

_As first time efforts go, 'Thicker Than Blood' could certainly be worse. Of course, it could also be much much better..._

_...a moving tale of fascination, fate and above all, the meaning of 'family.' McDonald charts an undeniably attractive fictional landscape – in spite of my misgivings, I found myself charmed..._

_...meet Carrie, the brainy heroine of 'Thicker Than Blood', whose world is turned upside down when her mother suddenly remarries..._

_...frankly ludicrous. The protagonist's many sudden and inexplicable mood swings led me to wonder whether she was battling bipolar disorder. Upon raising the subject with my eleven year old daughter, I was told, in tones of the greatest condescension, "You just don't understand, Dad!" When I begged her to explain, that young lady sighed, "I can't – you won't 'get it'." And this in a nutshell is the story of 'Thicker Than Blood.' Young girls will ooh and ahh and anxiously count-down the days until Carrie's next 'adventure' is released ('Thicker Than Blood' is merely the first in a planned trilogy), while those with a 'y' chromosome will remain mystified..._

_...McDonald is at her best when documenting the tensions that arise when step-families collide. In comparison, the supernatural plot seems tacked on, an afterthought..._

_...and what about the mysterious ravens that seem to follow Carrie? Stepbrother Dirk taunts "Addams family reject!" But could the truth be more sinister?_

_...tension briefly rears its head when Dirk, the eldest stepbrother, declares that he is "not on board" with the sudden Happy Meal family McDonald has presented him with. But all too soon, the appealingly spiky Dirk is revealed to be a sheep in wolf's clothing, distressingly prone to bleating things like, "You're the sister I never knew I always needed, Carrie!" at regular intervals..._

_...important questions to be answered. Just what are the ravens trying to tell her? Will she and Dirk be able to put aside their differences and work together to fulfil the ancient prophecy? And of course, most important of all, will hunky quarterback Marc ask Carrie to the homecoming dance?_

_...but it isn't the uninspired and uninspiring romance that resonates (the shy bookworm and the quarterback – how original!), rather it is the idea of McDonald's patchwork family (far from perfect, but a perfect family nonetheless) that remains with the reader..._

_...nothing to justify the teen hysteria (I must confess, I found 'dreamy' love interest Marc rather wooden, and while Dirk is an ideal brother, he proves a disappointingly tame 'bad boy'). Still, 'Thicker Than Blood' is a fun read, and teen girls could do much worse than outspoken heroine Carrie... _

_...idea of the 'merged family' can perhaps account for the hype. It is a situation that much of McDonald's audience can identify with (indeed, the book is based on McDonald's personal experience as part of a blended family), and the author cannily markets wish-fulfilment dressed up as 'plot' to these readers..._

_...provides reassurance for those considering the scary move towards a blended family..._

* * *

"Why don't you just – say whatever you want to say, and get it over with!"

"Who says I have anything to say to you?"

"The fact that you followed me all the way to _London, England _sort of hints that there might be something on your mind" –

"Whoa, whoa, whoa – I am not _following you!"_

"Really? Because your carbon footprint suggests otherwise."

"All part of the Derek Venturi plan of action."

"What?"

"Cheerleaders, models, chicks with classy accents..."

"You're disgusting."

* * *

**"_I don't understand why you have to be so mean!" Carrie shouted, stomping after him._**

_**Dirk turned towards her. "And I don't understand why you still don't get it. I'm not interested in playing crappy families with you, bird-girl."**_

_**She tripped over her unlaced shoe, landing hard. Dirk just stepped over her, foot coming down inches from her nose. She flinched. He wouldn't crush her body – crushing her spirit was probably enough for him. He strutted down the corridor, uncaring of her anguish. Prone on the floor she yelled after him, "Yeah, well, I've got a nick-name for you too! Dirk the JERK! How do you like that!" **_

_**She stifled a sob. Couldn't Dirk understand she just wanted to be accepted? Their families had merged, but he still treated her with callous indifference...as if they were strangers, instead of sister and brother.**_

* * *

"Right, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way," the doorman said.

Lynda Day raised an eyebrow. "Yes, we can," she agreed. "So, what's it going to be?"

The doorman blinked. "Look, we've been through this! I can't let you in!"

"And I've told you, it's important!"

"Oh, well, if it's important...Why didn't you say?" the doorman said, expansively waving her forward, only to grab her by the arm as she attempted to pass. "It was a joke," he said severely.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "From what I've seen, you don't have the brain power to create any comedy that doesn't involve a multicoloured wig and sound effects."

"Oy!" the doorman exclaimed. "Right, that's it!" He rolled up his sleeves.

"I'm sorry, is there a problem here?" The doorman turned to the speaker and smiled reassuringly, before darting in front of Lynda as she tried to slip around him.

"Not in a minute, there won't be, sir."

"Look, if you'd just let me in, you'd save yourself a lot of trouble," Lynda said, in her most reasonable voice. "If anyone asks, you can tell them I outwitted you." She paused for a moment. "Or you could lie, if you want."

"We've been through this, lady," the doorman said through gritted teeth.

"Well prepare to go through it again, because I'm staying right here until you let me through that door."

"Then get comfortable, because that is not going to happen!"

They glared at each other.

There was the sound of a throat clearing, and both Lynda and the doorman looked in annoyance at the speaker. He smiled insincerely. "I hate to interrupt, but my date and I would kind of like to..." he gestured towards the door of the hotel.

"Of course, sir!" the doorman said, holding the door open and keeping a watchful eye on Lynda. The speaker brushed past Lynda, then turned back to her and said, impatiently, "Are you coming?"

She blinked at him, and he jerked his head towards the entrance.

The doorman and Lynda exchanged startled glances. "You're his date?" the doorman asked, bewildered. "Hang on, that can't be right" –

"Before Quasifrodo catches on would be good," the speaker hinted, holding out his arm.

"Yes!" Lynda decided. "I'm his date!" She aimed a poisonously sweet smile at the doorman, and grasped her rescuer's hand. "See you later!"

She and the speaker walked slowly into the hotel.

"Is he still watching?" Lynda hissed out of the side of her mouth.

Her unlikely rescuer glanced casually behind him. "Yeah."

"Right, well, I suppose you'll just have to tag along for a bit. Where's conference room three?"

" – no, really, it was nothing. You don't need to thank me," her rescuer said, sounding both sarcastic and stunned.

"It might be this way," Lynda said, tugging him off towards the right.

"Right, because I clearly have nothing better to do than help crazy chicks. Am I wearing some kind of sign? Do you have crazedar?" he rambled as she hauled him down a corridor, past small knots of people, and fortunately, in exactly the right direction.

Just outside the door to conference room three a woman was holding forth to her friends, wineglass in her hand, " – think it's the theme of personal redemption, as exemplified by...oh. Hi there..." she stared breathlessly to Lynda's left.

Lynda's rescuer paused for a moment to exchange smiles before Lynda yanked him into the room. And promptly dropped his hand.

"This is conference room three," she pointed out.

"I guessed," he said flatly, eyes flicking to the enormous golden '3' mounted on the wall behind her.

"Right. Well. I think I can take it from here." She spelled it out – he had floppy hair and a way of slouching that sort of drew attention to his...everything. He was far too pretty to be smart as well. "You're free to go now." She enunciated carefully and gave an impersonal, encouraging smile. "Go away."

He blinked at her. "It's the accent," he decided. "It's a scam! You guys aren't really Classy McManners-and-Crumpets at all – it's the _accent _that's got everyone fooled! I _knew _it!" He pointed an accusing finger.

Ignoring this, she turned away and began pushing through the crowd, in search of her target.

Who was, of course, leering at a pretty, jumpy-looking woman.

" – but you must've had some clue when you were writing it" –

"No!" she denied immediately. "I didn't even plan on sending it to a publisher. My sister did that. And I'm glad she did – of course! But...it's been – kind of...overwhelming." She took an audible gulp from her wineglass.

"Yeah, I'm sure it must have been," he said, oozing sympathy. Lynda rolled her eyes and took a step closer.

"Let's not talk about me anymore! Let's talk about...you!"

"Oh. Yeah. Well...we – uh, we could do that, but...I'm a pretty boring guy. I'm talking now and I can barely keep my eyes open."

She ignored this. "What's your book about?"

This was too perfect a cue to miss.

"Rubbish!" Lynda said, as she appeared at Spike's shoulder. She aimed a smile at both parties before continuing. "_Down in the Dumps, _a memoir of the year he spent living in a landfill."

"You...lived in a...waste disposal area for a year?" the woman asked, sounding faintly repulsed. She also took a step back.

"Yes!" Lynda answered before Spike could. "But I suppose it all worked out for the best. It did inspire him to write after all. And critics love his work – you can practically smell the methane as you turn the pages, one reviewer said."

"That's...um...you _lived in a dump _for a whole year?" the woman asked again, as if she couldn't stop herself.

"Well, it made sense at the time...dating my last girlfriend _felt_ like taking out the garbage, so this...seemed like, uh, the next logical step," Spike improvised, with a glare at Lynda.

"_Really_?"

"Spike, aren't you going to introduce me?" Lynda asked, pointedly. She turned to the woman and smiled wryly at her. "Yes, he exposed the illegal dumping of toxic chemicals, but at what price? Doctors say he may never recover fully. Though it does provide material for the next book – _A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste."_ The smile suddenly disappeared. "And you are?"

The woman blinked at the sudden change in attitude. "Casey McDonald," she said meekly, holding out her hand.

"Lynda Day. Spike's agent."

"You know, Casey – I can't help noticing that your glass is empty. Would you like another drink?" Spike asked.

"Well, I suppose I" –

"Great – we'll be right here waiting for you," he said, giving her a friendly smile and a gentle push. As she stumbled off, bewildered, Spike turned to Lynda.

"Stalking – you're doing it wrong," he informed her. "The whole point of stalking is to _not _draw attention to yourself. Meanwhile, you're staging an exhibition."

"Oh right – because that puddle of drool you're standing in isn't obvious at all."

"Hey, I am being completely professional!"

"So she knows that you're a reporter and you've asked her for an interview?"

"Well...not – exactly."

Lynda folded her arms.

"Listen, Julie wasn't kidding when she said the girl was press-shy. I ask her one simple little question about her book and she practically breaks out in hives. So I was thinking" –

"Here it comes..." Lynda announced, unimpressed.

"I think I need to keep up the ruse for just a little bit longer. Gain her trust...show her that not all reporters are slimeballs and really get to know her as a person" –

"Tell me Thomson, does this sudden desire to 'get to know her as a person' have anything at all to do with the fact that she's wearing a tight top and a short skirt?"

"I just want to loosen her tongue!" Spike protested.

"Don't you mean 'loosen her teeth'? I've seen vacuum cleaners with less suction!"

"And just how long have you been dating household appliances, boss?"

"Well, I have to get satisfaction somehow," she shot back.

Spike closed his eyes. "Listen, Lynda, crazy as this might sound – I am doing my job! The job you pay me to do! And even if I was interested in getting to know Casey McDonald on a more personal level...since I broke up with you, I don't think that's any of your business!"

"I'm the one that broke up with you, and I have documentation to prove it. I'm almost certain I kept the original memo."

"Yeah, and following me around and showing your claws whenever I say hi to another girl proves just how 'over me' you are. I'm expecting you to handcuff me to your radiator next."

"In your depraved fantasies, Thomson. Anyway, I'm not following you."

"Right...so the _real _reason you crashed this exclusive first-time-author's party would be...?" he trailed off and smirked.

Lynda looked stumped for a second before she caught sight of... "You!"

She grabbed the arm of her unlikely rescuer, and smiled at him. "You know, I don't think I ever thanked you for helping me."

Then she grabbed two fistfuls of his t-shirt, hauled him close, and kissed him.

"Thank you," she said, releasing her grip and pulling away.

Her rescuer stared at her. "I take it back. You have _great_ manners. Really great...manners."

Spike blinked. "How much is she paying you for this?" he asked.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Lynda replied, with a trace of smugness. "By the way, I don't think I introduced myself. Lynda. Lynda Day."

She held out her hand.

Her rescuer looked at it for a second before shaking it. "Derek," he said, with a smirk, "Derek Venturi."

"You're staying in this hotel, right, Derek?" she asked.

"Yeah..." he said slowly.

"Great. Would you like to show me your room?"

Derek's jaw dropped. "...how do I file for citizenship of this great country?" he wondered.

"Spike? Any comments?"

Spike looked at Lynda, lips pressed tightly together. "Hey, we broke up. It's your call, nothing to do with me."

Lynda broke their gaze. "Fine," she said, and turned to Derek. "Lead the way."

"Right...now?"

"Second thoughts?" Spike asked. "That's completely understandable – hey, just because you have a self-destructive impulse doesn't mean you have to go with it, right?"

Derek stared intently over Spike's left shoulder. Then he pulled Lynda close and kissed her, arms snaking around her waist.

He drew back.

"Let's go," he said.

A moment later, Casey McDonald appeared at his side. "Did your agent just leave with that..._jerk_?"

"How do you know he's a jerk?" Spike asked.

"I – don't. He just...seemed like one. From what I saw."

"Yeah," Spike agreed, eyes fixed at the exit of conference room three. "He did, didn't he?"

* * *

Upon reaching the bedroom, there was an awkward pause.

"Here it is," Derek said, gesturing. "My room."

"Yes." Lynda cleared her throat. "Well, everything seems to be in order..." She swallowed, eyes drawn to the enormous bed.

"Yeah," Derek agreed. "Nothing to stop us from..." he trailed off.

There was a brief silence during which both stared at each other with panic filled eyes. The silence was broken when both spoke at the same time –

"Bathroom!"

"Phone!"

"I'm going to use the bathroom," Derek repeated.

"I need to make a call," Lynda said. "...can I use your phone? I don't know how mine works."

Derek looked confused but pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans and tossed it towards her.

"Great!" she said. "I'll make my call and then we can...get down to it." She bit her lip.

"Nothing to stop us then," Derek agreed, backing towards the bathroom.

Lynda stared down at the phone in her palm, before glancing at the bathroom door. And then at the entrance to the room. She carefully placed the cell phone at the end of the bed, before scrambling for the door.

However, fingers curling around the handle, she stopped, as an idea (or as Spike would probably put it, a 'scheme') occurred to her. With a glance at the still firmly closed bathroom door, she hurried back to the bed, grabbed the cell phone and slipped it into her pocket.

Then, she left.

* * *

"Hooking up with a complete stranger – _that's_ mature and dignified. Did you even get her name?"

"Sure I did. Among...other things. Jealous?"

"Repulsed."

"I think you mean 'repuls_ive_.' But hey, in the land of tombstone teeth, maybe even Casey McDonald can find true love."

"Maybe I already have. Jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous? Explain to me how that would even work, since I'm your _brother."_

"...and here we are again. Okay. I'm ready. I can take it."

"Good to know, but I'm not really interesting in _giving_ it, so..."

"Would you just _say it?_ Whatever it is, just say it."

"Nothing to say."

"Then why are you _here?"_

"...I need to borrow your cell phone."

* * *

_**Suddenly, a melodious voice asked, "May I help you?"**_

_**Carrie looked up, into the face of the most handsome boy she had ever seen. His eyes were dark pools a girl could drown in, his hair was thick and dark, and his glittering smile was incandescent.**_

**"_Hi," he said, as he gently set her on her feet. "I'm Marc."_**

**"_Carrie," she said dreamily. She had never believed in love at first sight, but then, she'd never believed in loathing at first sight either, not until she met Dirk._**

* * *

"Um...why?" Kenny asked, staring down at the cell phone Lynda had just placed on the table in front of him.

"It's very simple," Lynda explained. "He calls his phone, to find out where it is, and you tell him that if he wants his phone back, he'll have to agree to a date. Here's a copy of my schedule. Tell him Wednesday is definitely out."

Kenny looked at her with resigned confusion. "But...why?"

"How else am I going to win this break up with Spike?"

"So you're going to blackmail a total stranger into dating you?"

"No. _You're_ going to blackmail a total stranger into dating me. And anyway, he's not a total stranger. His name's...Derek. Derek...something. Vendor. Venture. Something."

Kenny raised his eyebrows.

"Venturi," Frazz said absently as he passed them.

"That's it! Derek Venturi!"

"How did I know that?" Frazz wondered, eyebrows drawing together.

"Update Frazz' profile. Put 'savant' next to the 'idiot'," Lynda advised.

At that precise moment, Spike made his entrance. Whistling.

Lynda's eyes narrowed. It was on.

"How do you know if you're in love?" he asked. "Because I've got this feeling – the kind of feeling I only get when I look in a mirror. I think this might be it."

"Did you get an interview?" Julie asked hopefully.

"Better. I got a date."

"Great – so instead of 'Popular Author Gives Exclusive Interview to _The Junior Gazette'_ our headline is 'Spike Thomson has Date.'"

"Sssh. No need to upset our female readership," Spike winked.

Lynda folded her arms. "Aren't you going to ask me how my date went?"

"No – I'm trying to be nice. Besides, I don't call you trapping an innocent guy in a pathetic attempt to one up me, a date."

"Why not? It sounds sort of like your entire relationship with Lynda," Tiddler said, as she distributed mail.

"Anyway, he didn't kiss like an innocent guy," Lynda mused, then smirked at the look on Spike's face. "Jealous, Thomson?"

"Sympathetic," he shot back. "Tell him I know a great physical therapist when you're done with him. He'll need it."

"Unlike you, he has stamina," Lynda fired back.

Just then, the cell phone rang. Hesitantly, Kenny picked it up. "Yes, it is," he said, in response to the person on the other end. He glanced at Lynda as he got to his feet, and wandered over to Frazz' desk in search of more privacy. "This is probably going to sound strange, but...are you free Tuesday?"

"Why don't you just give it up, Lynda? Admit that this is all a stupid plan to get under my skin."

"I will if you will," she challenged.

Spike shook his head vehemently. "Breaking up with you was the best thing I ever did."

"I broke up with you!"

"If this guy's not just a cheap ploy to get back at me – what's his name?" Spike asked suddenly.

"Derek – Venturi," Lynda said, pausing slightly before she remembered his second name. Spike smirked.

"And what does he do?"

"Derek Venturi? He's a famous Canadian hockey player," Frazz said absently as he passed them again. He stopped. "I _knew _the name sounded familiar."

Lynda blinked. "...he's a famous Canadian hockey player," she repeated, aiming for casual, and almost hitting it.

"Lynda's dating a sports star?" Julie said, extremely loudly. Everyone turned to stare at her, and the door to Colin's office opened. "Sorry," she said. "It's just...usually when I say this stuff out loud – I wake up."

"Lynda's dating a famous sports star?" Colin stepped out into the newsroom. He frowned. "Why was I not informed of this money-making opportunity?" He slung an arm around Lynda's shoulder. "Lynda, how does your boyfriend feel about endorsements, because" –

"He's not her boyfriend – they haven't even been on a real date!" Spike burst out. "Not...that it matters to me. At all."

Kenny made his way back to Lynda. "Tonight at eight, wear something nice, and I told him you'd meet him at the hotel."

He attempted to hand her the cell phone, but Lynda refused to take it. "I'm not giving that back," she said. "Not until I get him to agree to a profile piece, anyway."

There was a mixture of disgust and amazement on Spike's face. "You know, just once, I wish you could choose someone over this lousy paper."

"Not that it's any of your business of course, right?"

"Right," Spike agreed, staring her down. "As a matter of fact, I am going to order some flowers for _my_ date. Who isn't an overly-controlling, manipulative workaholic psychopath!"

"Missing me already?" Lynda questioned, as Spike stomped off. "Julie?"

Julie continued to study the sheaf of paper in her hands. "I've told you already, Lynda – I don't think you can 'win' a break up." She glanced up. "But so far? Spike's definitely losing."

* * *

Towards the end of the day, the phone rang. Kenny picked it up and –

"You know Derek – when you said you were going to London, I thought you meant _London, _not LONDON. Are you crazy?"

Kenny blinked.

"I can't believe you just followed her to London. What do you think that's going to accomplish? Have you even talked to her yet? I bet you haven't even talked to her yet..." The voice trailed off. "...and I'm thinking that by now, Derek would have either hung up, or interrupted, so...hi there – Kelsie? Katie? Lisa? Chloe?"

"Kenny," he offered.

"...that's...new," the voice mused. "Um, is Derek there? I need to talk him out of doing something stupid. Er."

"Sorry," Kenny apologized. "Derek's sort of...not here right now." He looked around the newsroom as if to verify this. "He – left his phone behind, and I'm looking after it for him. He's going to collect it soon, though."

"Oh. Okay. Well, could you tell him that Sam called, and to call me back?"

"Yeah, of course," Kenny promised.

"And, um – sorry for...yelling at you earlier. Kenny, right?"

"Right. No problem...Sam."

Kenny disconnected the call and took up his pen.

* * *

"Why are you _here?"_

"Well, according to the ancient prophecy, my fate is bound to yours. In a completely non-kinky, non-fun kind of way. Obviously."

"That was the _book._"

"Yeah, but how am I supposed to tell the difference between fiction and reality, when they're both so similar? _Carrie_."

* * *

**"_It's so weird," Lisa said, "Milly's pool was full of raven feathers this morning."_**

**"_Maybe bird-brain here decided to take a bird-bath," Dirk said, pointing at Carrie and laughing. _**

**"_Shut up, Dirk – or should I say, JERK," Carrie shot back. Inside though, she was worrying. First the bike shed, now this? She hadn't wanted to believe the prophecy at first...but what if it was right? The ravens did seem to be following her, watching her every move, threatening those she held dear. A cold prickle ran down her back and she shivered, misty blue eyes going wide with fear. Dirk might still be able to laugh it off, but she couldn't. Not anymore. _**

_**Suddenly the phone rang. Dirk picked it up. "Hi there, Crazy Carrie's bird sanctuary – how may we help you?" He straightened, voice suddenly serious. "No, I – I haven't seen Kelly since yesterday. Did you try her cell phone?"**_

_**She looked at Dirk, pale with worry for his girlfriend, and she finally realized the depth of his burning passion for Kelly. Dirk really did have feelings, buried deep beneath his impassive exterior.**_

_**His eyes caught hers – no longer mocking. He looked just as worried as she did, and she knew. Dirk believed the fatal prophecy too.**_

* * *

It was a far from conventional date.

"You probably want an explanation," Lynda said, as she sat down.

"Actually, I'd prefer my cell phone."

"I'm going to be completely honest with you," she said.

"Oh. Good," he said, clearly unimpressed.

"Believe me, I don't like it any more than you will, but...I have no sexual or romantic interest in you."

He blinked. "Strong come on, neurotic freak-out...I have a definite type," he decided.

There was a silence, broken only by the rapid flashing of –

"...if you have no interest in me, why did you bring a photographer?"

"Proof," she offered, and smiled adoringly at Derek. There was another flash. "I'm going to put together a scrapbook of our first date. That'll show him," she muttered.

Derek's eyebrows raised. "So this..." he gestured at the candle-lit table, "...is a _revenge_ date." He sounded almost admiring.

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all...as a matter of fact," Derek took her hand in his and stared into her eyes. In a loud voice, he said, "I think we should go on a river cruise. It'll be _romantic _and _educational _at the same time!"

There was an outraged squeak from behind them, but as Lynda tried to twist around, Derek's hands came up to cup her face, and gently turned her back towards him. "Can I get a copy of those photographs?" he asked.

* * *

Spike's date was...likewise unconventional.

"Shall I come back later?" the waiter asked.

"No, no," Spike said. "Casey, are you ready?"

"I think so," she said, staring at her menu. She bit her lip. "It's just...so hard to decide."

"Chicken or beef," Spike said. "It's not exactly a matter of life and death."

"But what if I don't make the right decision? What if there is no right decision? What if I'm destined to be a miserable outcast no matter what I do?" Tears welled up in her eyes.

"I'll come back in a few minutes," the waiter said, tactfully withdrawing.

Casey was in full gush. "It's just so hard – there's so much _pressure_," she hiccupped, as tears streamed down her face.

At a loss, Spike stared at her. "Hey, hey, it's not that bad," he said, shifting his chair closer to her. He picked up his napkin and gently wiped her cheeks. "How about – you get the chicken, I'll get the beef and – we can share."

Casey sniffed in agreement and Spike's head whipped around –

"OW! Did you see that? Someone just threw a bread-roll at me!"

* * *

The next day, Lynda triumphantly declared, "I think he likes me. He gave me this!" She held out a ceramic heart key-chain with...

"Is that a thumbprint?" Tiddler asked.

"It's my thumbprint. Because I've stolen his heart," Lynda explained, loudly, within earshot of Spike.

Who rose immediately to the bait. "First his cell phone, now his heart...Boss, I think you need help."

"Give it here," Julie said. She examined the key-chain. "I can't _hear _a ticking sound." She considered this. "He likes you," she said, sounding completely shocked.

"It has been known to happen!" Lynda sounded insulted.

"Biblical plagues have been known to happen, Lynda."

Lynda ignored this in favour of marching over to Spike's desk. "So, how did your date go last night?" she asked.

"Great," he said. "As a matter of fact, she couldn't wait to go back to my place."

Lynda regarded him steadily.

"To reorganise my wardrobe," Spike semi-coughed. He tried to make it sound as dirty as possible – not an easy task.

Lynda didn't rise to the bait. Instead she asked, "Did you tell her the truth?"

"We had other things to...discuss," Spike said. "How about your date? Does he know you're just dying to...profile him?"

"Funny, we never got around to that. Better things to...talk...about. Do you want to see some photographs?"

"This is going to end well," Kenny observed. "I can tell."

* * *

The next phone call came soon after.

"Derek, are you avoiding me? Not cool man. Not cool. I mean, I only have your best interests at heart and...it still isn't Derek, is it?"

"Afraid not," Kenny said. "Sam, yeah?"

"Sorry. I thought Derek might have gotten his phone by now. I thought he was" –

"Avoiding you?"

"Yeah...anyway, I should go."

"I'll tell him to call you. I'll tell him it's urgent."

"Thanks. I'm...actually not as crazy as I sound whenever you pick up Derek's phone. I swear."

"It's all right, honest. You don't have to explain."

He persisted, obviously feeling that he _did _need to explain. "You have met Derek, yeah?"

"Um...I've _spoken _to him," Kenny hedged.

"Well, you know those...mass murderers, or psychopaths? You know how everyone says, 'He seemed like such a normal guy?' That's Derek. He _seems _like a normal guy, but underneath...it's crazy."

"I think I know the type," Kenny said.

"Derek's a guy-shaped hurricane – trust me, you've never met anyone like him," Sam said seriously.

"Really?" Kenny leaned back in his chair. This was, after all, his area of expertise. "Because I know a girl called Lynda, and she's not like anything on this earth."

There was a silence. "No way can she be as bad as Derek," Sam said, sounding fascinated.

"Want to bet?"

"All right," Sam said. "You're on. Picture this – we're eight years old and Derek talks me into climbing onto my garage roof to decide once and for all, who gets to be Superman when he grows up. We start with the flying contest – and Derek charitably allows me to go first. And by charitably allows, I mean pushes me off the roof."

Kenny winced.

"I was in a cast for most of the summer," Sam finished. "Okay. Let's hear what you've got."

Kenny thought for a second. "Easy. When we were six, Lynda wanted to be a doctor. She had the white coat, toy stethoscope, everything. And we spent ages diagnosing her teddy bears...I was the nurse," he explained. "She made me wear the pinafore and all."

Sam sucked in a sympathetic breath.

"But that wasn't the worst bit. The worst part was when Lynda decided that she needed to operate on a human. For experience. Guess who?"

"She didn't!"

"Got out her mum's scissors. I'd never seen so much blood. Course, the worst part was when she got out the needle and thread to sew me up. Luckily I passed out at that stage."

Sam half-laughed. "You're making this up."

"Is that an admission of defeat?" Kenny asked, interested.

"No way – I was just...getting warmed up. I've got stories that would curl your hair...I mean, assuming it isn't curly already."

Kenny glanced around the newsroom. Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly – well, as smoothly as it ever did at the Junior Gazette.

He stretched out his legs. "I'm listening."

* * *

"Why are you _here, _Derek?"

"The ravens sent me to tell you that Alfred Hitchcock wants his plot back."

"Fine. You know what? I find it completely reasonable that you've travelled across the Atlantic ocean to argue with me, but won't tell me what's actually bothering you."

"I _would, _but I'm afraid it'd end up in your next book. _Sis._"

* * *

_**They cowered together in the bathroom, while outside, winged bodies battered against the door.**_

_**Carrie licked her dry lips. "Remember the last time we got locked in this bathroom?" She wished she could return to those halcyon days, when the fate of the world wasn't resting on her young, inexperienced shoulders, when the only thing that bothered her was Dirk.**_

**"_Yeah. And I'm almost as scared now as I was then," Dirk wisecracked, but his trembling hands gave him away._**

_**She whimpered as there was a particularly loud bang on the door. Some feathers slipped through the crack at the bottom. "At least Mom, Gordon, Edna, Lisa and Marie are safe," Carrie said, voice cracking. **_

**"_Yeah, they're safe, so maybe we could go back to worrying about, I don't know – us?" Dirk asked in a strangled voice._**

**"_That's very considerate, Dirk!" _**

**"_Yeah, well, you're the one they want to crown as their raven priestess, I'm the guy they're going to peck to death as a blood sacrifice!"_**

* * *

The following day, Lynda dropped a copy of _Thicker Than Blood _in front of Spike, and announced, "Have you read this?"

"No, why?"

"Her prose is disgustingly flowery, her grammar needs brushing up and the less said about her punctuation the better."

"Hey, I thought she had great punctuation," Spike defended. He smirked. "She brought me to a full stop anyway."

Lynda glared. "You're disgusting."

"Hey – at least I don't have to resort to theft to get a date."

"That's part of my plan," Lynda said. "I'm making him completely dependent on me."

"Great – what's next? Are you going to break his legs?"

Lynda considered this. "Only if he resists."

* * *

" – so, because I couldn't concentrate on anything else, Lynda fixed me up with her."

"That sounds nice," Sam argued.

"Yeah. It does, doesn't it? Until you find out that Lynda got me the date by pretending that I was terminally ill and it was my dying wish. She spent the whole night crying whenever we made eye contact and telling me how brave I was. Your turn."

Sam was quiet for a minute. "Have you ever heard of the male code?" he said.

"Kenny?" Tiddler tapped his shoulder, "Julie needs you."

"Sorry, Sam, can I call you back?" Kenny disconnected.

"Right – Julie wants your opinion on the graphics for..." Tiddler broke off and eyed him suspiciously. "What are you so smiley about?"

* * *

"I've told you before, though I guess it shouldn't surprise me that I have to tell you again...my book has nothing to do with you!"

"Since I'm part of your stupid book, I have to disrespectfully disagree."

"I've told you before – all characters appearing in my work are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental."

"Really? Because from where I'm standing, it looks more like 'Names have been changed – but not very much – to protect the writer's own ass.'"

* * *

_**It was true, she realized. And, as horrible and mean as Dirk had been to her, she couldn't bear the thought of him being ripped into meaty shreds by cruel beaks and talons. He was her brother, after all.**_

_**Unsteadily, she got to her feet.**_

**"_What are you doing," he hissed, grabbing her wrist._**

_**She fought against his grip. "You're right," she said.**_

**"_Yeah, I know, I usually am. But again – what the hell are you doing?"_**

**"_I was able to control those ravens by the bike shed!" she said. "I didn't know that's what I was doing, but I did!"_**

**"_Oh yeah, if by 'controlling' you mean, letting them divebomb me!"_**

**"_They didn't kill you," she argued._**

_**He pulled her back onto the floor. "There were ten of them then. How many are there outside that door now? I'm not going to let you risk it."**_

_**Their faces were close together, and she could see a vulnerability that Dirk usually kept well hidden. **_

**"_Why?" she whispered. "We're going to die sooner or later."_**

**"_Well, I'm really okay with later," he snapped. "And" – he stopped._**

**"_What? What is it."_**

_**His eyes burned into hers, searing her with the intensity of his gaze. "Don't you get it? You're the sister I never knew I always needed, Carrie. I can't just...let that go. I can't lose you!" His voice broke on the last word and his eyes glimmered with unshed tears.**_

_**Their conversation became jumbled, words whirled together in her mind...blood...sister...control...and suddenly she knew.**_

**"_Close your eyes," she said._**

**"_What?" _**

**"_Do you trust me? If you do, then close your eyes!"_**

_**Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, his lashes dark against his alabaster cheeks**._

* * *

"Don't tell me you still don't have an interview?" Lynda taunted. "I thought by now she'd be eating out of your hand."

"It's not like that," Spike defended. "She's had some really bad experiences. She couldn't predict she was going to write a bestseller – and she was totally unprepared for the publicity. She just wants to enjoy her holiday...take a break from being Casey McDonald, author and just be...Casey McDonald...babe."

Lynda regarded him. "You're losing your touch, Thomson. I thought by now you'd have the interview in the bag and you'd be onto your next brainless bimbo."

"Hey – she's not brainless! She's smart. And – and nice."

Lynda raised her eyebrows. "Don't tell me you're wimping out now, Spike?" Her voice was soft, and her eyes sharp.

"Look, I'm just saying...I get the feeling she's been through a rough time lately. And maybe...not pressuring her into an interview wouldn't be the end of the world."

"Fine," Lynda decided.

"Fine?" he repeated disbelievingly.

She shrugged. "If you can't do it." She shook her head. "I never thought I'd see the day. Spike Thomson finds a woman he can't charm into doing his bidding." She examined him critically. "I always thought the hair would be the first thing to go. But apparently, it's the sex appeal."

Spike bristled. "Hey – I could get that interview, if I wanted. I'm _going _to get that interview."

"If you say so." Lynda picked up an article off her desk and went in search of – "Kenny!"

With a muttered, "I have to go – I'll call you back," Kenny put down the cell phone.

"Kenny, have you seen the article on planning permission?"

"And what about you, huh?" Spike asked, pursuing her. Kenny handed her the article.

The cell phone rang.

"What about me?"

"Have you told your hockey 'star' that you're a newspaper editor, and you're only interested in his profile?"

Kenny answered the phone. "Hi, I hope you've got a good one, because I have got the story to end all stories for you." He straightened up. "Oh – hi."

"Actually, I'm very familiar with his...profile. I have intimate knowledge of his _vital statistics,_" Lynda said. Spike shot her a sceptical look. "Anyway, if I did tell him – our relationship is strong enough to handle it. Because it's based on mutual trust." Even she didn't look like she believed that one.

"Your phone?" Kenny said, darting a glance at Lynda, who continued arguing with Spike.

Spike scoffed. "Your relationship is based on his tongue in your mouth. Not that I care, since we've broken up," he hastily clarified as she smirked. "But –when are you going to tell him?"

"How about now?" Kenny said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. "Since he's sick of you 'forgetting' it, and wants to collect it right _this second."_

"Mutual trust?" Spike repeated smugly.

Lynda stared at the phone. "Tell him to come down."

Kenny blinked. "Are you sure?"

"Honesty is the best policy. No time like the present," she said. She looked at Kenny speculatively, "You can take the opportunity to interview him."

"All right," Kenny's voice held more than a trace of 'you'll be sorry' in it. "Yeah, hi again – Lynda says that'd be fine. Let me give you directions..."

Without warning, a lurking Colin limpetted himself to Lynda. "Your famous sports star boyfriend is coming here? Couldn't you have given me a bit of warning? I haven't perfected my pitch yet!"

* * *

Kenny was in the graphics department going through the questions to ask Derek. It was quiet in there, easier to get work done.

Kenny tapped his fingers on the table. He took up the sheet of questions he had come up with. "Right," he said to himself. He cleared his throat and took up a pen. "Let's get this finished!"

His gaze strayed to the cell phone on his left.

* * *

Derek's entrance into the newsroom was a big deal. Spike glared as Julie simpered at him and Frazz asked him for an autograph.

Then Colin got in on the action. "Derek! So good to see you!"

"And who are you?" Derek asked blankly.

"Colin Mathews. Lynda didn't mention me? Pass on any of my business plans? Proposals? No?" Colin looked momentarily disheartened.

"I'm on vacation," Derek said. "I'm really not looking for" –

"Say no more!" Colin put his finger on his lips. "But if you could just give me an autograph..." he looked pleadingly at Derek, who shrugged in impatient agreement.

Colin waved a thick bundle of paper under Derek's nose, and produced a pen from his pocket. "Excellent! If you could autograph here, here, here, and initial here...we're all done!" He clapped his hands together. "Now, if you could just come into my office for a few moments, we can get started!"

"Yeah, I'm kind of busy right now," Derek said absently.

"Not now, Colin!" Lynda warned as she descended on Derek.

"You work for a newspaper," Derek commented. "That's a completely new fact that you never mentioned before."

"Funny how that works. Sort of like you being a famous hockey player never came up." Lynda didn't sound guilty (there were those that said she just wasn't capable).

Derek looked faintly amused as they stared each other down.

"Oh, Lynda doesn't just work here – she runs the paper," Spike interrupted. "And hey, can I shake your hand? I gotta say, we thought Lynda would never find true love, but the solution was right in front of us the whole time! Date a guy who's got his own mouthguard!"

Derek blinked at Spike. "I know you," he said suddenly. "You're that guy I keep seeing with Ca– I mean, you're that guy I saw that...one time. At the book – thing. Aren't you a writer or something? Something about garbage...?"

"Spike – a writer?" Lynda mocked. "He can't even spell the word."

"Really?" Derek said, looking interested.

"It's part of my cover," Spike volunteered.

"Your...cover?" Derek looked, if possible, even more enthralled. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

Julie butted in, tossing her hair and laying a hand on Derek's arm. "Yeah, there's this author we really want to land an interview with – Casey McDonald...and I thought Spike could use his cover to get closer to her."

"Not that close!" Lynda snapped.

Derek's hand came up to cover his mouth for a moment. "Uh-huh," he said, and cleared his throat. "So, just to make sure I've got this straight...you're an undercover journalist with absolutely no romantic interest in Casey McDonald?" His mouth twitched, and he made a strange noise – a mixture of a laugh and a cough.

"Well, I wouldn't say 'NO interest'," Spike said, with a pointed look at Lynda.

"I will," Derek murmured. Then, with a practiced smile, he said, "Can I borrow a cell phone? I...really have to make a call, and mine is still missing."

"You can have mine," Julie breathed, pressing her cell phone into his hands with a look of adoration.

Derek slipped out the newsroom doors. Spike and Lynda watched him go with identical frowns on their faces.

"Did you get the feeling there's something we're missing?" Spike asked.

"He seemed very interested in you," Lynda said.

"Well, he _has_ been dating you – he's probably ready for someone a little less masculine."

"And you certainly qualify."

"Did you see his arms?" Julie sighed.

* * *

"...still phones sometimes," Kenny said. "Emails. Sends photographs of her and her boyfriend under the stars. _Wish you were here._"

"Ouch."

"The sad part is, I think she actually means it. Like I'm a teddy bear she left behind."

"I'm sure you're not a teddy bear," Sam reassured him.

"No. It's worse than that," Kenny said gloomily. "I'm a nice guy."

"That's not so bad."

"My last girlfriend invited me round for tea with her mum."

"That sounds okay."

"To explain to her mum why she was dating someone else?"

"...okay, that's – not so good. But, hey, I can relate. At my coming-out party, I spent the whole time comforting Casey in the bathroom, because Derek told her that she jinxed me."

Sam waited for a response.

"...Kenny? Are you still there?"

"...Yeah," Kenny said, vaguely, staring hard at the table. "Yeah, I'm...um. At Lynda's fourteenth birthday party, she pretended to be sick, and we spent the whole time playing board games in her room."

"I think my party beats your party," Sam offered.

"Yeah." Kenny frowned. "Hang on a minute – did you say 'Casey'?"

* * *

Kenny burst out of the graphics department, and caught Lynda by the elbow. "You can't meet Derek Venturi here!"

"What? Why not?"

"Because he's related to Casey McDonald."

"What?!"

"She's his stepsister! So you have got to – I don't know –_ do something _and make sure that Derek Venturi doesn't realize that we've been stalking Casey McDonald hoping to get an interview!"

At that precise moment, Derek sauntered through the newsroom doors again. "Thanks," he said, handing over Julie's phone. She clasped it to her heart.

"So," Spike said, in a strained voice. "There's this...crazy rumour going around that you...know Casey McDonald. You wouldn't happen to have" –

"Called her?" Derek finished cheerfully. "Huh. You know something, I think I did. She said something about calling you. Of course, it was kind of hard to make out over the screams of rage, but...I think that's what she said." Derek jerked a thumb in the direction of the newsroom doors, "Well, it's been fun, but I should probably be..." cell phone apparently forgotten as he sauntered off.

Spike winced. "I should probably start failing to make it up to Casey...roses are always good, right?"

"Did you see his shoulders?" Julie said, practically oozing into a puddle. "Do you think he has all his own teeth? They play dirty in ice-hockey, don't they?" She bit her lip. Hard.

"I don't know about ice-hockey, but _I _play dirty!"

Lynda raced out the door, but slowed as she caught sight of Derek. "You've ruined our feature," she said. Calmly, conversationally.

He turned. "Yeah – so?"

"I think that's worth a profile. Puff piece, nothing to worry about. And...a date." She stepped closer to him. "Don't you?"

Moments later, she strode back into the newsroom. "Kenny, we're doing a scathing expose – I want all the dirt you can find on Casey McDonald and Derek Venturi...something's not adding up here. You've still got his phone, right?"

* * *

"Hey, at least it gives you material for your next book. I can see it now – '_Cassie thought Pike was the one – until she found out he was an undercover reporter. How does she react when she figures out that he's not interested in __being__ exclusive – he just __wants__ an exclusive?'"_

"Shut up, Derek!"

"But you shouldn't feel bad about it...oh, no, wait – you totally should!"

"You know something, Derek? It's possible that there's more to this story" –

"Yeah, I heard he really wanted to get some 'in-depth' coverage."

" – and maybe there's a reasonable explanation for his behaviour. Did you ever think of that? No. You just – hung him out to dry without even _asking _him...without even giving him a chance to explain!"

"Oh, I'm sorry – I guess we have totally different ways of dealing with betrayal."

* * *

_**Carrie reached up onto the bathroom shelf and took down Gordon's straight razor. She caught Dirk's hand in hers. His eyelids fluttered, but he didn't open his eyes. Then she sliced a line across his palm.**_

**"_What did you do that for?" he howled, yanking his hand away and clutching it to his chest. _**

**"_I thought you trusted me?"_**

**"_That was before you decided to filet me!"_**

_**She held out her own palm. "Do me," she said.**_

**"_What?"_**

**"_Don't you see? It's the prophecy – my blood gives me some control over them, but I can't conquer them alone!"_**

_**His eyes widened in comprehension. "But together..." he trailed off and took her hand between his. "Are you sure?"**_

**"_It's the only way to defeat them," she said. He took the razor in his right hand and poised it over her palm. Suddenly, her skin sang with a sharp pain, and beads of blood welled up across the cut Dirk had made in her palm._**

**"_Blood family?" he asked, holding out his hand. The blood ran down his fingers._**

**"_Blood family," she agreed, and clasped his hand in hers._**

_**They both gasped as their blood mingled and a shudder of power went through their bodies. Carrie's mind exploded into white hot light and she gripped his hand tighter.**_

**"_Are you ready?" she asked, through the pounding in her head._**

**"_Yeah," he said, chest rising and falling fast._**

_**Hands still clasped, they went to meet their fate.**_


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: second chapter, same as the first :)

* * *

The problem Kenny found, wasn't that it was hard to get Derek (and Casey's) nearest and dearest to talk...it was that it was impossible to get them to _stop. _And as for staying on-topic...

"So, as a brother Derek is...oh, you've written a poem. About – socks. Yeah, I'd love to hear it, Marti..."

"How do you feel your remarriage affected...oh, that's too bad. If it helps, I have a foolproof recipe – hang on, do you have a pen and paper?"

"Do you think that Derek's childhood – no, that's all right. That does sound very important. If it helps, I'd be glad to listen to your summation..."

"What's it like having Casey McDonald as a sis – yes, I do use energy efficient lightbulbs. Only way to go really, isn't it?"

It was a long day, made longer by the fact that during a bathroom break, the cell phone was answered by Colin. Kenny returned in time to hear –

" – once you account for the overheads, the rest is pure profit. So, can I take it you are interested? Excellent...now, do you have access to a credit card?" He paused. "Would you _like _to have access to a credit card?"

Kenny snatched the phone. "Edwin, sorry about that – that's Colin, pay no attention to him." He covered the phone and hissed, "What do you think you're doing? Edwin's got enough to deal with at the moment!"

"The kid's got potential," Colin said, ignoring Kenny's tone. "He reminds me of my cousin."

"The one you tried to sell?"

Colin looked at him blankly. "You're going to have to be more specific, Kenny."

It was no wonder that by the end of the day, he was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to go home. So it was a bit strange to find him in the darkened newsroom, two hours after everyone else had already left.

" – which brings us to Alex. Who I broke up with when I found him 'rehearsing a love scene' on my bed. With my understudy."

Kenny made a sympathetic noise.

"But you know what the really bad part is? I walked in on them, and it was so embarrassing that...I actually pretended to believe the love scene explanation for a while." Sam cleared his throat. "You might have won 'Most Psychotic Best Friend' but I think I have enough material to swing 'Most Completely Pathetic Lovelife'."

Kenny considered this. "I think we tie."

"Sucks to be a nice guy," Sam said.

"Yeah."

"Or...to _want_ a nice guy."

Kenny opened and closed his mouth. But just as he was about to say something, Sam jumped in hastily, "So, it's Friday night. Any big plans?"

He looked around the deserted newsroom. "No. Nothing. You?"

"Does 'staring at the walls of my bedroom' count as a plan?"

Kenny smiled, then became serious. "That's just...sad. I mean – we're young, we should be out having fun. We should hang up right now, and go and do something completely mad!"

"Yeah!" Sam agreed.

There was a silence.

"Have you hung up?" Kenny asked.

"...no."

He smiled.

* * *

"I can't believe you're still seeing her! She runs the paper – she probably masterminded the sting!"

"Yeah – it wasn't a sting...and as you pointed out, this is real life, not your version of it."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't get to control my behaviour this time. If I want to date someone – I will. And, since you're a _supportive family member, _I'm sure you're cheering me on, right?"

* * *

**"_This is perfect," Carrie whispered, as Marc drew her close and they began to dance. _**

**"_Yeah," he agreed, his dark hair shining and lustrous under the lights. His brown orbs caught her sapphire ones and she was helpless to resist the undeniable pull between them._**

**"_Carrie," he husked, swaying her in his strong arms, "There's something I need to ask you..."_**

_**Her body thrilled at these words, for she knew what he was about to say...**_

_**He said the words she had been waiting so long to hear – they delighted her ears like a classical concerto. "Carrie – will you be my girlfriend?"**_

_**She stared at him. "I've wanted you to ask me for so long," she said, her body trembling like an autumn leaf in his sure grip.**_

**"_Then – the answer is yes?" he pulled her close, "My dearest, you don't know how happy you've made me."_**

_**But she stepped back, face regretful, teardrops glittering in her eyes. "I – can't," she choked out.**_

**"_But – Carrie, don't you love me?"_**

**"_More than life itself!" she declared, though he little knew how true those words were._**

**"_Then why..."_**

_**She thought about Dirk, changed from annoying teenager to heartbroken vigilante by the loss of Kelly. It was possible he would never fully recover from the death of his true love. It was possible that he didn't want to.**_

_**Her jaw firmed with determination. She would help him through it. What else were sisters for?**_

_**Her hand whispered against his cheek for just a moment. "My family needs me," she said simply. **_

* * *

"I still can't believe you slept in the newsroom," Tiddler said, regarding Kenny with suspicion. "Did you borrow Lynda's pajamas?"

"I think it's brilliant," Lynda said. Kenny squinted at her. "I mean, since _you've _slept in the newsroom, that clearly voids my 'No sleeping in the newsroom, Lynda,' promise."

"But you've already broken that promise," Kenny said. "Multiple times."

"Well, yeah, but now I don't have to feel guilty about it."

Under the weight of their disbelieving stares she amended it to, "I mean, now I don't have to feel bad about not feeling guilty about it."

"Seriously though, Kenny" – Tiddler began, only to be interrupted by Spike's entrance into the newsroom.

"Okay," he held up both hands with a world weary sigh. "I know it's difficult, but everyone's just going to have to form an orderly queue to offer their congratulations."

Lynda squinted at him. "Don't tell me" –

"She forgave me," Spike smiled triumphantly. "And it only took..." he consulted his watch, "six straight hours of grovelling. I may not be going out with you anymore boss, but I gotta say...your training came in useful."

"So everything's back on track?" Lynda asked, with suspicious innocence.

"Absolutely," Spike said. "How about you and hockey-boy?"

"Hockey-_man,_" Julie sighed as she breezed by. "Did you see his thighs?"

"Never better," Lynda ignored the interruption.

"Yeah, well – a relationship based on blackmail probably seems reasonable to a guy who's got a permanent case of brain-freeze."

"We should celebrate this," Lynda decided, without breaking eye contact with Spike. "Us both moving on."

"I don't know about you, but my life's been a non-stop party since I broke up with you."

"I broke up with you," Lynda corrected. "And how about a double date? To prove there are no hard feelings?"

"Funny, I thought _hard_ feelings were the only kind you had."

"If you don't think you can handle it...that's no problem of course..."

"I can handle it."

"Great," Lynda said.

"I'm looking forward to it," Spike managed, through gritted teeth, before wheeling off towards his desk.

"Kenny, change the reservation tomorrow to a table for four." Lynda said as she watched him go.

Kenny sighed. "You don't even remember what you're fighting about, do you?"

"I remember that Spike started it. Probably."

* * *

"All right Kenny, what's going on?" Tiddler demanded.

Kenny looked up from his notepad. "What?"

"The humming, the smiling, the sleeping in the newsroom, and – are those song lyrics?"

Kenny hastily covered the notepad with his hand.

"What gives?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he denied.

Tiddler regarded him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Finally, she slapped her hands down on the table. Kenny jumped.

"It's a girl," she said, triumphantly. "You've got a crush on some girl!"

"I do not," Kenny denied.

"Come on, Kenny. Look in the mirror."

"There's no girl," he said. Reasonably. Sensibly.

Tiddler subjected him to thorough scrutiny. Kenny met her eyes without blinking.

"Sorry...I just – thought..."

The cell phone rang. Unfortunately, it was on the far end of the table, where Julie happened to be standing. She picked it up.

"That's all right – you can give it" – Kenny began, but Julie turned her back to him.

"Hi there," she said brightly. "...I'm Julie, and you are?" Her voice became a purr, "Sam? That's a nice name. Do you work out? You _sound _like you work out..."

Abruptly, she straightened. "Oh. Yeah. He's here." She slapped the phone into Kenny's hand. "Great," she said. "Everyone already thinks you're a better deputy editor, and now boys think you're cuter than me too."

Tiddler's eyebrows shot towards her hairline.

"Hi Sam," Kenny smiled. "Yeah, me too...just a minute...Tiddler – don't you have mail to deliver or something?"

"You _do _have a crush!" she exclaimed. "On a boy!"

Kenny covered the mouthpiece of the phone. "I do not!"

"You've gone all red!"

"I have not!"

Tiddler folded her arms. "Kenny, I don't want to do this, but if you're going to deny it, you leave me no choice."

"Tiddler – go away."

"Fine – but don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

"Kenny?" Julie asked, wrinkling her nose. "I can't believe it."

"Why not?" Tiddler asked.

Julie considered this. "Well, I never _believed_ the rumour that Lynda had him neutered years ago. But that's just because...it's Kenny. Does he even...have those parts?"

The graphics department was empty – Lynda had reduced one member to tears, and the newest recruit, Vandana, not realising the futility of disagreeing with Lynda Day, had whipped the others into a frenzy. They were currently camped around Lynda's desk demanding unreasonable things like respect and a longer lunch break.

So, really there was no reason for Kenny to feel nervous, with his only audience thousands of miles away.

"It's very rough," he warned. "I haven't really had a chance to" –

"I'm sure it's great," Sam reassured him.

Kenny took a deep breath, and began to strum his guitar.

A few minutes later, when the last notes had died away, he asked, "...so, what did you think?"

"I think...I'm sorry I ever agreed to this guitar-off with you," Sam said.

Kenny deflated. "Oh. Well, I did say it was only a rough version" –

"Dude – I meant because I am clearly going to lose. That was awesome."

Kenny smiled. "All right – your turn."

"Do I have to? I've already admitted defeat."

"Hey – I smuggled my guitar into the newsr – um, new office to do this. And if Colin finds out" –

"Let me guess – then you're in trouble?"

"More like...then I'm signed up to Colin's label, which so far consists of a tapdancing monkey and an untrained magician. Come on, the least you can do is show me what I'm up against. Besides," he paused, "I'd really like to hear you."

"Okay," Sam sighed. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

A few minutes later, after the last 'YEAH!' of 'She Said It Was Over,' Kenny cautiously asked, "Is...that it?"

"Pretty much, yeah. We used to repeat it a few times, but...I like you, so I won't do that."

"No – it was...it was – interesting," Kenny said tactfully.

"Yeah – lyrics were never our strong point," Sam said. "I mean, we got _better _after that, but..." he cleared his throat, "You're really talented. I can't believe you wrote that by yourself – it took three of us to come up with the line 'Baby, baby, baby.'"

Kenny smiled warmly. "Yeah, well, I've been feeling sort of...inspired lately."

There was a silence.

Then, hesitantly, Sam asked, "Um...Kenny – are you...flirting with me?"

Kenny blinked.

"I mean, it's cool if you're not, but it maybe seems like you are – and don't get me wrong, I'm totally on board with that – I'm 'pulling up the anchor and getting ready to set sail' levels of 'on board' with that...but...I'd just kind of like to...know. If you are. Flirting. With me."

He waited.

"Um...can I get back to you on that?" Kenny asked.

* * *

When the graphics team had been cowed into quivering submission, Kenny sidled up next to Lynda. "I can't believe I'm going to do this, but...I've got something on my mind, and since you're my best friend...I'd appreciate it if we could –talk."

"I am your best friend," Lynda said. "And as your best friend, might I say that you are being completely insensitive?"

Kenny blinked. "What?"

"Rearranging your sexual orientation without telling me. I felt completely out of the loop!"

He blinked again, incredulous. "I'm so sorry you feel slighted by my personal crisis – which, by the way, I didn't even realise I was having until a few minutes ago!"

"Well, next time, try to send a memo or something."

"How about a telegram?" He held out his palm in front of him as if he was reading an invisible note, "Dear Lynda. Stop. Just. Stop."

Frazz bumped into him, and then spent seven minutes explaining that that was an _accident, _not a _come on._

Julie tried to fix him up with a friend. "He's lovely – and you both have so much in common!"

"Like what?" he asked.

"Um...well...the – obvious?" she tried.

The worst however, was to come.

"Kenny, I've just heard! Is it true?"

"Colin, I'm having a really hard day – whatever Tiddler's been telling you" –

"I heard that you've been writing new material! It's perfect timing – the return of Kenny Phillips – Rock God!" Colin slung one arm around Kenny's shoulders and gestured into the distance with the other.

"Oh, right – that. Sorry, I thought for a second that you were going to offer your support. Or ask me to offload that crate of rainbow stickers for you."

"Why would I do that?" Colin asked, in puzzlement. "Anyway, you finish your songs, I'll pull together some backup dancers...between the nostalgia value and your new queer cred, I expect a sellout!"

"Go away, Colin. Go away, now!"

* * *

"So, we're really going to do this," Spike concentrated on the notes on his desk. "Tomorrow night we're going to go out on dates together – with other people."

"Absolutely," Lynda said. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm dying to know how a relationship between a published author and a guy who thinks a 'semi-colon' is a medical procedure – actually works."

"That makes two of us, since I can't wait to see how the relationship between someone whose idea of fun is beating people up – and someone who does it professionally, works."

"Then it's a good thing our curiosity's going to be satisfied tomorrow, isn't it?"

Spike shook his head. "Lynda...don't you think this is a little twisted, even for us?"

"What are you trying to say, Spike?"

He looked down at his desk again. "Nothing."

"Come on Thomson – spit it out. I can't tell you what you want to hear if you don't say it."

"And when have you ever told me what I want to hear?"

"First time for everything. Come on, like I've never surprised you?"

"Yeah. Mostly unpleasantly."

* * *

"So," Tiddler said. "What's he like?"

"He's...nice." Kenny smiled down at the cell phone in his hand.

"Nice," Tiddler said flatly.

"What's wrong with nice?"

"Kenny – we're talking about epic romance here!"

"We are? I thought we were talking about having a crush? Maybe," he clarified quickly.

"What I mean is – 'when Nice meets Reasonable'...it's not exactly 'when worlds collide', is it? More, 'when worlds gently bump into each other and then apologize for the inconvenience.'"

Kenny looked confused and Tiddler sighed. "Look, Kenny, you've got some good raw material here, but if you want an epic romance for the ages, you're going to have to do a lot of work."

"But I don't know if I want an epic romance for the ages," Kenny said. "I mean – I don't even know where to start. You can't exactly call a few phone calls a relationship, can you? And we both live so far away – I don't even know if it would work. I'm mad to even be thinking this!"

He jumped as Colin's hand came down on his shoulder. "How are those lyrics coming along, Kenny? I do have a rhyming dictionary if that would help things. Just...be careful when you come to page 83...and if possible, try to avoid using the word genius."

"Kenny's stressing about his long distance relationship," Tiddler volunteered.

"Thanks, Tiddler," Kenny said, putting his head down on the table.

"Oh? Where does the lucky guy live, then?"

"London," Kenny said, voice slightly muffled.

Colin took this in. "I'd hardly call that long-distance," he said, shaking his head. "Kenny, Kenny, Kenny – you're making mountains out of moleskins."

"London in _Canada_," Kenny clarified, banging his head against the desk.

Colin stared at him. "London in..." He laughed. "Tiddler, get an atlas."

"It's a place in Ontario," Tiddler informed him. "You know, where Derek Venturi is from."

Colin went white. "London in..." he swallowed. "That's...not...no – it's not true!"

He looked wildly between Tiddler and Kenny, who both nodded at him. He pulled out a chair. "But...then my book is worthless..."

"What book?" Tiddler asked.

"_Derek Venturi's Insider Guide to London – _all the hotspots of our capital city as marked out by a native," Colin recited hollowly.

"Yeah – a native _Canadian_," Tiddler said. Colin dropped his head into his hands.

"Didn't you think it was the slightest bit odd that a famous Canadian hockey player would be from Britain?"

As Colin stared at Kenny, something changed in his expression.

"Colin," Kenny asked warily, "What are you looking at?"

He got his answer when Colin snatched the cell phone out of his hands. "Sorry, Kenny – but, all's fair in love and profit margins," he apologized, and took off running.

As Kenny and Tiddler chased him through the newsroom, they heard, "Edwin, _Eddie_ – have I got a deal for you!" before the door to his office slammed shut.

Five solid minutes of thumping later, and the door was abruptly unlocked. This almost led to a pile-up as Tiddler and Kenny fell into Colin's office.

"I was so close," he said, staring down at the cellphone in his hand. "We were talking shipping!"

"Let me guess," Kenny brushed himself off. "Lizzie vetoed it."

"Narrow-minded, I call it. Risk equals revenue, I told her, but she hung up."

"Right, well, now that you've finished" – Kenny began, holding out his hand, when the phone rang.

Colin brightened, and brought the phone to his ear. "Eddie – excellent! I knew it was an offer you couldn't refuse! Oh – Sam. Of course! I hear Kenny's really been pumping you lately...are you all right? That cough sounds nasty."

"Colin – give it!" Kenny made an abortive grab for the cell phone, but stumbled over a leering garden gnome, and lurched into a pile of musical boxes with stiffly pirouetting ninjas on top.

"No, I meant the article," Colin burbled, as Tiddler crossed her arms in front of her and shook her head wildly.

"Stop talking!" Kenny begged, as he righted himself.

As usual, Colin ignored this. "You know – Derek Venturi. I hear you're the go-to guy for inside info....What – Kenny, a reporter?" He laughed, "What _has_ he been telling you? Modesty – it's his biggest failing. Try deputy editor – he's second in command of our little operation...impressive, eh? ...hello?"

He stared down at the cell phone. "He hung up!" He shrugged, then handed the phone to Kenny, who stared at it in dismay. "But don't worry, Kenny – I really talked you up, and I'm sure he was impressed." He looked expectant.

"I'm going to kill you," Kenny managed.

"Well, I _like_ that," Colin sounded indignant. "As your manager, it's my responsibility to say – love your new material, but I'm not sold on the attitude." He ushered Kenny and Tiddler out. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book to remarket."

The door shut behind them. Tiddler watched as Kenny scrolled down the list of contacts on the cell phone and pressed the call button. He shut his eyes. "Switched off," he said, shoulders slumping. "Straight to voicemail."

"I'm sorry," she said. "But – look on the bright side! The two of you have just had a big misunderstanding – you might have a shot at love after all!"

* * *

It was, in a word – awkward.

"Isn't this nice?" Casey said in a strained voice as they sat down.

"Yeah – it's like old times again. Growing up together, we were like a brother and sister double-dating tag team," Derek said.

Casey glared at him.

"Wow – that's...involved," Spike said, eyebrows rising.

"You know that saying 'Keep your friends close, but your family closer'? That was us."

"Menus!" Casey yelped. "Who wants a menu?"

"What about you two?" Derek asked, gesturing between Lynda, on his right, and Spike, on the opposite side of the table.

"Us? We dated," Lynda said.

"Yeah – but we have this strict employer-employee relationship now," Spike hastily clarified.

"Wasn't that what I said?" she asked, before turning to Casey. "Have I told you how much I enjoyed your book?"

Casey shook her head.

"I thought not," Lynda said, carefully refraining from actually saying that. "Anyway – I just wanted to ask...the symbolic castration of your lead male character – was that an intentional choice?"

Both Derek and Casey choked. "I thought you promised this wasn't an interview!" she hissed at Spike.

"It's not – I swear to you, this is Lynda's version of small talk."

"I mean, you keep putting him in situations where he can't act – and then, when you take into account the vow of chastity he takes after his girlfriend's murder...I just thought it was an interesting choice." She smiled encouragingly.

"I – uh – that is..."

"I think that's probably more a reflection of _Casey's_ issues, than anything to do with me – I mean _him,_" Derek interjected.

"Hey, or maybe it's more about _Lynda's_ issues," Spike said, placing a comforting hand on Casey's back. Across the table, two pairs of eyes narrowed. "I mean, Lynda's all about castration...right, Derek?"

Derek placed his hand over Lynda's, resting on the table. "She seems pretty cool to me," he said, and smiled at her.

Across the table, two more pairs of eyes narrowed.

"Cool? I think the word you're looking for is 'frigid'," Spike said.

* * *

"No luck?" Tiddler asked.

Kenny shook his head. "I've left messages, but..." He shook his head.

"He's got to answer sometime," she reassured him.

"Does he?"

"Well, no – but I was trying to make you feel better."

Kenny groaned, then sat up. "Canada!" he said.

"What?"

"I could go to Canada! I mean, if I showed up at his door, he'd have to listen to me!"

Tiddler blinked. "And what would you say?"

"What?"

"Okay – ignoring the fact that Lynda probably has a plan in place to stop you from ever leaving the country again – let's say you show up on Sam's doorstep. What are you going to say to him? Because it's going to have to be a killer first line."

Kenny thought. "'Hi?'" he offered.

"Kenny! You can't start an epic love affair with 'hi'! It's got to be something deep and meaningful, like 'I know this sounds crazy, but I think we're meant to be together.'"

"That's a bit full on, isn't it?"

"Kenny – you crossed 'full on' when you considered crossing time-zones to meet this guy!"

* * *

"So," Lynda said, twirling her fork in her pasta, "How much of your novel is based on your own life?"

Casey put down her water glass. "No comment," she said.

"I'm not asking as an interviewer. I'm asking as a fan. So – what? Forty per cent? Fifty? Sixty-five?" Lynda persisted.

"These potatoes are...really great," Spike interrupted, glancing between the two women. "Anyone want some?"

Lynda ignored this and kept staring at Casey.

"Really, Lynda, I'm not that interesting."

"I second that," Derek agreed, and Casey closed her eyes in relief. He smirked. "But – Lynda's question _is_. So how about an answer?" He raised his eyebrows.

"It's...really hard to calculate," Casey began. "I mean...it's more – the situations described are ones I'm familiar with, but the characters are my own invention."

"So, you've experienced almost being pecked to death by ravens...but Dirk Van Sant has nothing to do with Derek?" Lynda persisted.

"Well, naturally there are aspects...um..." she trailed off into silence.

Spike looked at her with concern. "Here – Casey," he said, "you've really got to try this!" He held a forkful of mashed potatoes to her lips.

She swallowed. "You're right – these are delicious." In a very sincere, soft voice, she said, "Thank you."

"No problem," he said in the same tone.

Abruptly, Lynda dropped her hand onto Derek's thigh. He jumped, and Spike raised an eyebrow.

"You okay, Derek?" he asked.

"...fine," he said.

"I think you might be coming on a bit strong, there, boss," he said to Lynda, amusement turning up the corners of his mouth.

"I'm being seductive," she said, and smiled challengingly.

"You're being _scary," _he disagreed.

"I'm being forward and take-charge with my sexual needs. Some _men _appreciate that."

"Hey, take-charge is great," Derek interrupted, with a look at Casey. "The last girl I dated was in a constant state of retreat."

"Well, maybe if you'd stopped _ambushing _her, she wouldn't have had to withdraw so much," Casey said. Breaking eye-contact, she turned to Spike. "Here – you have a little...just let me..." she picked up her napkin and dabbed at the side of his mouth.

With a squeak Derek half-rose out of his chair. "Could you please loosen your grip on my thigh?" he gritted out in Lynda's direction.

* * *

"Kenny, it's eight o' clock," Tiddler said. "Don't you think we should call it a night?" She looked around the empty newsroom.

"Just – one more try," Kenny said. He pressed the call button once again, then shot up in his seat. "It's ringing!" he hissed.

"All right, well remember" – she didn't have a chance to finish.

"Hello – hi. It's me. Obviously. Look – I know you're probably really angry at me right now and you have every right to be – I completely understand. But – you should know...I'm sorry. I'm really sorry – it was a stupid idea and I should have put my foot down. The thing is though – I wasn't thinking about the story at all. It doesn't matter to me – it never did, and I really hope that it's not going to ruin...well...whatever we have here, because I think it's – sort of special. It is to me, anyway, and...oh. Well, who _is_ this?" Kenny closed his eyes. Dully, he said. "Alex. Oh. That's. Um. Right. Well – sorry to be calling so late. Bit of a mix-up, but...I'll just – hang up now, and you can go back to...whatever you were doing. Sorry to disturb you. Right."

He hung up. He stared at the phone in his hand for a moment before turning it off.

"What happened?" Tiddler asked, quietly.

In a very normal voice, avoiding eye contact, Kenny said, "Sam was in the bathroom. So, his ex-boyfriend picked up." He tapped the phone against the table, gently.

"It mightn't be what you think," she offered, hopelessly.

"It's one in the morning in Canada," Kenny said, almost to himself. He forced himself to look at Tiddler. He managed a smile. "I think you were right."

She frowned. "About what?"

"It wasn't exactly an epic romance. Bit silly to think...nevermind." He shook his head and sighed, before getting to his feet. "Come on, I'll see you home."

As they left the newsroom, Tiddler slipped her arm through his.

* * *

"So why didn't you two work out?" Casey asked, gesturing with her fork.

"It was the classic love triangle," Spike said. "Man, woman...newspaper." He glared across the table.

"Is it hard to work together?" Derek asked, staring directly at Casey. "Isn't it weird to go back to that kind of relationship, after being so...close?"

"Well," Lynda considered, "It's very hard to find _good_ reporters these days, so...I'm stuck with Spike."

"Don't get me wrong," Spike said, "I still have a lot of respect for Lynda. I think of her as my rock. Well – more like...my gargoyle."

"Speaking of respect," Lynda said sweetly, "I have to say, Casey, that I really admire you."

"You...do?" she looked confused.

"Absolutely," Lynda said, her face the dictionary definition of sincere. "This can't have been easy for you – when you heard that Derek was giving us an exclusive interview, I mean. But I agree...dignified silence is probably the best option. If only it didn't look like you have something to hide..."

Casey stared at Derek.

"Casey isn't hiding anything," Spike defended.

Lynda shot a withering glance in his direction. "I wasn't talking about her dress, Spike."

"Is that true?" Casey asked. "Are you really giving her an interview?"

"No holds barred," Derek confirmed.

"...you don't mean – you _wouldn't_ tell her_!_"

"Wouldn't I?"

"Wouldn't tell me what?" Lynda asked, eyes darting from one to the other.

"I'm sure there's nothing to tell – now, how about dessert?"

"Derek – that is _low_ – even for you!"

"And I thought you were a number one fan of telling the truth. Because that's what it is, isn't it? The truth."

"Do you mind if I take some preliminary notes?" Lynda asked. "This is good stuff."

Derek and Casey ignored the interruption. "It happened," Derek said flatly, "and no matter how many 'happy family' stories you write, you can't make it _un_happen. So maybe, you should just face up to it."

"How many times do I have to tell you – my book is not about _you_!"

"Yeah, and _that's_ the problem!" Derek matched her volume. "Because I'm pretty sure you know that you're not '_the sister I always needed'_. You never were – and you _knew _that, and then you wrote that, after we" – he stopped.

Even Spike didn't try to break the silence this time.

"I just wrote a book in praise of blended families," Casey said finally, in almost a whisper. "Everyone keeps talking about my wonderful family values and the great example I'm setting." She looked straight at him. "One confusing night together doesn't make all that irrelevant."

"It could," he said.

Casey swallowed then shook her head. "I – can't. I just – I can't!" Pushing back her chair, she hurried in the direction of the ladies. Derek stared after her.

"Great work boss," Spike said, dropping his napkin on top of his plate. "What are you going to do for an encore? Take candy from little kids?"

Lynda pushed her chair back. "I'm going to fix this." She met Spike's astonished gaze. "After all – I only have half the story yet."

* * *

Lynda crossed her arms and waited outside the latched stall, apparently unmoved by the sniffling she heard.

"You're going to have to come out sooner or later," she said eventually.

Casey unbolted the door and looked out. "If this is an attempt to apologize" –

"It's not."

Casey shook her head and laughed a watery laugh. "You and Derek _are_ perfect for each other. Right down to the matching horns."

"All right," Lynda said. "We could talk about what a terrible person I am. It might make you feel better. But, the thing is – I'm such a terrible person that I don't really _care_ about making you feel better about yourself. I'm an amoral, black-hearted, stone-cold bitch – and your hurt feelings don't particularly matter to me."

"Then why" –

"I read your book," Lynda said calmly, eyes fixed on Casey. "It was better than I expected. Of course, I didn't expect much. You need a better editor, by the way. And don't describe anyone's smile as incandescent and glittering. It's redundant."

"So you followed me in here to give me _literary criticism_?"

"No. The thing is – I read your book. But I've also been reading between the lines. And it turns out, the story you wrote – that isn't the real story at all. It's a cover-up."

"I really don't see how this is any of your business," Casey remarked in a high, tight voice.

"I'm an editor," Lynda shrugged. "Cover-ups make me itchy. So I'm going to give you some advice."

"I can't wait," Casey said. "Based on your choice of outfit, this should be interesting at least."

Lynda ignored this. "If you're going to screw up your whole life, don't use the media as an excuse. Because it goes away eventually," she said. "The speculation. The gossip. The fashion victim of the week spreads."

Casey looked at her. "How do you know?" she asked.

"Personal experience."

"That...was actually more helpful than I thought it would be," Casey admitted.

"Good. Here's some more. Your stepbrother's a good kisser – you shouldn't let training like that go to waste. It took me years to break Spike in."

* * *

"You know, the price isn't too bad considering we got dinner _and _a show," Spike commented, looking around the restaurant.

"Yeah well, life with Casey...it's a twenty four hour opera. You get used to it."

"Living with Lynda...that's more of a murder-mystery." He tapped the table with his fingertips.

"Different strokes, I guess," Derek swirled the water around in his glass.

"So," Spike said casually, "I'm guessing you have no real interest in Lynda."

Derek smirked at him. "I wouldn't say _no _interest."

* * *

Casey's subsequent return to the table was as short lived as her absence from it had been.

Feigning nonchalance she sat down again and picked up the dessert menu with hands that only shook a little. "Has everyone decided what they're having already?" she asked brightly. "I think the rhubarb crumble sounds good."

Derek leaned forward. "Yeah, it all looks good, but I have to say, I could really go for an extra helping of truth right about now." He stared at her.

"Truth?" Spike interrupted, darting a worried look between Casey and Derek, "Truth's overrated – you should try the chocolate mousse instead."

"No," Casey said. "It's okay, Spike." She kept her eyes fixed on Derek. "Go on. What do you want to know?"

"That stupid Stepford family...that's what you wanted? Want?"

"Yes!" she burst out, and he flinched. "That's exactly what I wanted! What I _want_." More quietly, she finished, "It would be easier than _this_."

Derek nodded. "Okay," he said, pushing back his chair. He got to his feet. "You've got it."

He walked off.

Casey watched him go, chin wobbling, before making a frantic dash for the bathroom again.

"All right," Lynda snapped into action, already out of her seat. "You take him, I'll work on her."

"Lynda..." Spike didn't move. "You ever think...maybe we shouldn't be doing this?"

"You're right," she said. "_I_ should go after Derek, _you_ take Casey."

Spike watched her go, before getting to his feet with a sigh.

* * *

She slowed when he was within calling distance. "You're just going to walk away?"

He stopped and turned. "Pretty much, yeah."

"I didn't think you were a quitter," she said.

"You know how most people just _tell _you they're not interested? Well – Casey _wrote a book._ Quitting seems like the only thing I can do."

"Spike had this really bad habit of running away to America every time we had a little argument. But do you think I let that get in the way of our relationship?"

"Yeah, well, considering how dinner went, he and Casey are probably going into hiding as we speak."

Lynda considered this. "I have a private detective on speed-dial," she offered.

Derek looked at her and almost smiled. When he spoke though, he sounded serious. "Lynda," he said, "Ask yourself, am I really the guy you need to be chasing right now? Because from what I've seen, you left the real story back in the restaurant – and I don't know how long it's going to wait."

"What, Spike? No chance," she denied. "Spike's like a human boomerang – no matter how many times I throw him away, he always comes back."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Then I guess you've got nothing to worry about."

Without waiting for an answer, he walked away.

* * *

Casey yelped. "This is the _ladies'_ room – you can't come in here!"

Spike shrugged. "Hey, I figure if they let Lynda in, they've gotta have a flexible policy." He sank down on his haunches, next to Casey, who was sitting underneath the hand dryer, back against the wall.

"Some enchanted evening," he said, with a wry grin.

"That old _black_ magic," she agreed.

"Lynda's gone to talk to Derek," Spike volunteered. "Want to make a run for it? I've got the witness relocation programme on speed-dial. I hear Tuktoyaktuk's a good place to disappear."

"They'd find us," Casey stated with certainty.

"Or we'd go looking for them," Spike said. He sighed. "Which is kind of the problem, huh?"

Casey looked at him. "...yeah," she admitted.

"You know, I moved to another continent to get away from Lynda. It didn't take."

"It's just not fair!" she said. "He expects me to jump in with both feet, when there are so many reasons to...not. And he won't even admit it" –

"Well, if Derek's anything like Lynda – and the similarities are actually creeping me out at this stage – you're going to have to replace 'fair' with a word that he actually understands." Spike shifted closer. "Sometimes, you've just got to...hang in there, and see it through. All the way to the non-guaranteed happy ending. And no," he finished, with a twist of his lips, "it's not fair."

Softly, Casey asked, "Is this about Lynda?"

"You know, not everything is about Lynda." He sighed. "But this is."

He got to his feet and held out a hand to help Casey up.

* * *

When they exited the bathroom, there was a surprise waiting for them.

"Lynda?" Spike said, blinking at their table, where Lynda was once again seated. "Where's Derek? What are you doing back here?"

She chose to answer the second question. "I think I might be choosing someone over my lousy paper." As a grin spread across Spike's face, she warned, "Don't get used to it though. And you're going to have to find something to replace the lost profile and interview."

"Hey, boss...does this mean we're back together?" Spike asked.

"I don't know," Lynda said. "I suppose that depends on how convincing your argument is." She folded her arms. "I'm ready whenever you are."

* * *

The next day in the newsroom, everything was back to nearly normal.

"All right," Lynda said. "Since Spike and I have resolved our issues a week earlier than I anticipated, I have some free time."

"That's great," Kenny said absently.

"You can have your personal crisis now. I've put it in the schedule and everything."

"That's nice, but I'm all done."

"Really?" Lynda frowned. "Usually there's a lot more talking. You didn't even dredge up the whole 'free will' versus 'fate' thing."

Kenny shrugged.

"You're not acting like yourself," Lynda said, raking him with her eyes. She nodded. "I like it. It's a definite improvement."

* * *

Kenny turned on the cell phone. There was a loose end to be tied up.

He hardly heard the phone ring, before it was snatched up.

"Hello? Kenny? Oh good – I was afraid...listen, I got your messages" –

"Yeah – sorry for leaving so many. Actually, I'm just calling because I wanted to apologise in person. Well, not in person, obviously, but...face to face. Um. Phone to phone, I suppose I should say" –

"Don't," Sam said. "I mean – don't worry about it. Your messages explained, and...thinking about it, you didn't even ask anything...um. So really, forget about it."

"All right," Kenny said.

There was a silence.

"Alex told me you called," Sam said.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry – I sort of forgot the time difference. Won't happen again."

"It was...um...unexpected. With Alex. I mean – I wasn't planning on it."

"No need to explain," Kenny interrupted. "Really. I'm happy. For you."

"You...are?"

"Yeah. I mean – lovers inadvertently reunited. By me. It gives me a warm feeling inside. A _good_ warm feeling," he clarified.

"Oh. That's...good. I guess."

"So, listen Sam, it's kind of hectic at the moment over here – I'm a bit swamped...I should probably let you go."

"Oh. Okay..."

"It's – it's been nice though. Talking to you."

"Yeah. Same here. I mean – yeah, it has been...nice."

"Well...that's it then, I suppose," Kenny said. He ran a hand through his hair. "Goodbye, then."

He pressed the power button again.

* * *

"So, I've been thinking."

"Do you ever stop?"

"I don't think of you as a brother."

"Good. Because otherwise I think we may have committed an indictable offence."

"The thing is...it's a really awkward situation."

"You're involved – I think that goes without saying."

"And – it's probably going to backfire horribly. I can't see it ending in any other way than tears and book-burnings, but..."

"What are you trying to say?"

"This...isn't the right London, but – it might do for a trial run..."

...

...

"Can I just ask – is this a _sisterly _hug...because I am definitely getting some weird vibes – OW!"

* * *

_**She found Dirk lurking outside the school, in the shadows, like a wounded beast. Not that far from the truth, now that she thought about it.**_

**"_Missing a party," she said. "That doesn't sound like the Dirk Van Sant I know."_**

_**His eyes caught hers, and the raw pain she saw in them tore her up inside. "Yeah, well, maybe you don't know me that well."**_

_**She grabbed his hand as he turned away. "I know you like I know myself," she said intensely. "You can pretend otherwise if you want, but it's the truth. We are family."**_

_**Her hand throbbed in his, pain and power lacing in equal measure through the recently formed scar. Her skin burned and tingled. She knew he felt it too, as his breathing quickened and the burnished gold of his eyes was swallowed up by the darkness of his pupils.**_

_**He dropped her hand. "I can't be happy," he said intensely. She felt the words like blows, smashing into her skin. "I can't feel at peace until I know we've won."**_

**"_We defeated the ravens," she pointed out._**

**"_We won the battle, but I have a feeling that the war's just beginning." He pulled a newspaper clipping out of his pocket. The headline contained the words that made her blood run cold –_** _Birdwatchers Notice Unusual Activity**.**_

**"_It's there. All the warning signs."_**

_**She swallowed.**_

**"_I'm leaving tomorrow. I just – wanted you to know." _**

_**It swirled before her – a vision of the future...life without Dirk.**_

**"_You can't!" she cried. "You don't even know if you can control the ravens alone!"_**

**"_Only one way to find out," he said. His curls blew in the suddenly cold wind._**

_**The decision was made in an instant. "I'm coming with you." But as she said it, she felt everything slot into place. It was her quest too – it was their quest. The prophecy had said so. They had defeated the ravens before – together...and they could do it again.**_

_**His eyes met hers and she saw...acceptance in their glistening depths. A familial love too deep to be ever fully expressed in words, but too overwhelming to be truly hidden. **_

_**But of course, his response was pure Dirk.**_

**"**_**Hope you're ready for an early rise, sis," he said**._

* * *

It was during a newsroom meeting two weeks later that it happened.

Kenny was tapping his pencil against the table, a frown on his face, when Lynda asked, "Kenny? Any thoughts?"

"A chance phone call," he said. "Would be lovers separated by an ocean, continents, and the thin line between good and evil." He looked straight at Lynda. "If I can't make an epic romance out of that, well, then...I might as well give up!"

Lynda nodded. "Sounds good. Outline it, and we'll keep page seven open."

Kenny stood up.

"What are you doing?" Tiddler hissed.

"Fire me," he said.

"No," Lynda said, sounding completely unsurprised. Of course, it was a request many had made before...

"I mean it, Lynda," Kenny sounded frustrated.

"I'm not going to fire you, Kenny," she said.

"Oh, come on!"

She looked at him. "But I _am_ demoting you."

"Really?" Julie looked interested.

"That's not" – Kenny began, indignant.

"To foreign correspondent," Lynda finished, speaking over him. "First posting...Canada."

Kenny looked at her for a long moment. A smile crept across his face. "Lynda that's just...I've just got to say" –

"Hadn't you better get packing?" she interrupted.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah I should..." he headed for the door of the newsroom, only to veer around and return to his desk. He opened a drawer and withdrew the cell phone. As he made his way towards the door, he turned it on.

"And Kenny?" Lynda called.

He turned.

"I am expecting frequent updates."

They looked at each other, and Kenny nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

He opened the door of the newsroom, only to smack right into a guy with a rucksack on his back.

"Sorry," he said absently, attempting to brush past, eyes firmly fixed on the exit.

"No, that's all right...actually, maybe you could help me?" The guy held out a hand to prevent him leaving.

"Usually I would, no problem, but I can't right now," Kenny excused. "Sorry – I'm in a bit of a hurry...but it's sort of important. Sorry."

He pushed past and walked quickly towards the exit. Almost there – another few steps and...

The cell phone in his hand rang. He stopped and stared down at it. Cautiously he brought it to his ear.

"Turn around," he heard. In stereo.

He turned.

The guy still standing at the entrance to the newsroom, smiled. "I uh, I had a feeling," Sam said.

Kenny stared back at him, a smile spreading across his face.

"Hi," he said.

* * *

'_Derek Venturi's Insider Guide to London' by C. Mathews, is an odd novel. Indeed, it isn't really a 'novel' at all, by rigorous standards. It is more a collection of memorabilia – photographs, restaurant bills, even song lyrics – very few of which seem to have any connection to Derek Venturi..._

_...I have tried my hardest, but even armed with a magnifying glass, I find myself unable to locate the smallest semblance of a plot..._

_...delightfully avant-garde. Certainly there are those that will point to the lack of coherence and structure, but is it fair to judge a work by the very standards it eschews? 'Derek Venturi's Insider Guide to London' may be frustrating at times to those accustomed to a linear plot and detailed characterisation, but the book has an energy and excitement that many other published works completely lack..._

_...the genius of this work, is that it __doesn't__ tell a story. Rather, it allows the reader to construct their own narrative from such mundane odds and ends as transcripts of telephone calls, a photograph of a ceramic key-chain with a thumbprint on it, and the ticket stub for a flight from Canada to Britain. C. Mathews possesses a rare literary talent – that of __suggestion__, and it is utilised beautifully in this debut novel._

_...complete nonsense..._

_...interesting – but for all the wrong reasons..._

_...possibly pretentious enough to fool some people into believing that it is good. But take my word for it – it isn't..._

_...aims for edgy, but misses the target by a mile. Of interest only to those who think a plot, decent characterisation (indeed, any recognisable characters!), and action are but optional extras in literature..._

_...really shouldn't work, but bizarrely, it does. Odd, but visionary, it even approaches profundity in spots..._

_...even comes with a free ninja musical box!..._

_

* * *

__...a man in demand both on and off the ice. It's not just sports fans who agree that there's something special about Derek Venturi – he has already been immortalized in two very different works of fiction. First of all, he is acknowledged to be the inspiration for stepsister Casey McDonald's Dirk Van Sant in her popular young adult novel 'Thicker Than Blood' (though he insists that he is "way less lame"). In addition to this, he has lent his name to the surprise bestseller 'Derek Venturi's Insider Guide to London'. This quirky, odd little book defies description – a seemingly random collection of photographs, lists, and even song lyrics, bizarrely packaged with a free ninja musical box – but it has certainly captured the public imagination. In fact, there are already __rumors__ of a sequel._

_Venturi seems to accept this interest as almost his due. "Well, who else was she going to write about?" he asks, when I bring up his pivotal role in McDonald's series. "It's __Casey.__ I'm like, the only interesting person she knows."_

_He also doesn't hesitate to provide a refreshingly clear-eyed look at McDonald's work. "I was expecting it to be kind of stupid," he says frankly. "And it was. But the next one's due out soon, and she's promised it's going to be better. I get to use a sword. And there's way less," he shudders, "mushy stuff."_

_Oddly, on the subject of 'Derek Venturi's Guide to London', he is much less forthcoming. Indeed, even the story of how his name came to be linked with the project is strangely disjointed, and Venturi himself seems a little confused as to how it all came about. "I don't know," he says, scratching his head. "It just kind of happened. I thought I was signing an autograph, but it turned out to be a contract," he jokes._

_He also refuses to give any information on the author – the mysterious C. Mathews. "Believe me, you don't want to know," he says flatly. However, he does drop one tantalising hint that might be of interest to those female fans who can't get enough of his exploits both on the ice and on the page._

"_August is kind of important," he admits. "That's when Casey's next book is coming out." He considers for a second. "And my girlfriend's book too."_

_Are those rumors of romance with the elusive C. Mathews true then? When pressed, Venturi fixes me with an amused glance. "Dude," he says, "I've given you all the info you need. Work it out."_

_Then he smiles, a conspiratorial, boyish grin, and admits, "But her name does begin with a 'C'."_


End file.
